The Cost of
by bayoublackjack
Summary: Nothing in life is free. Every action has its reaction. Every decision has a consequence. A price. Happiness isn't a given. It's a wage that has to be earned. Natasha learned that fact early in life. (Note: I'm categorizing this as MCU, but it'll be heavily influenced by Earth-616 canon.)
1. Survival

Natasha couldn't remember much of her time before the Red Room. There was a host of conflicting images in her head, so it was hard to be certain what was real and what was not. All she knew was that there was a world outside of the Room and she longed to see it.

Her first taste of freedom came easily. She waited until night when they were supposed to be sleeping. Getting out was simple enough. She squeezed her hand out of her restraints rather than risk unlocking her handcuffs and bringing attention to herself. Natasha was the smallest of the twenty-eight girls. She was also nimble and clever enough to recognize the patterns of their guardians.

Night after night, she would wait for her moment then slipped out. There wasn't much to see outside the facility. The town was small and most of the shops and things were closed by the time she made her excursions. Her time was mostly spent scrounging up salvageable bits of bread and fruit from dumpsters behind restaurants and taking the scraps back to the other girls.

Occasionally, however, she looked at the clothing in shop windows or watched the dancers training for auditions for the Bolshoi or the Mariinsky. The ballerinas were her favorite. She envied their beauty and grace. But mostly she was jealous of the peaceful tranquility they exuded. They looked free when they moved and she longed for that feeling.

Natasha continued watching them for weeks. Each time feeling more confident in her escape and questioning what would happen if she didn't return. Would they even notice her absence? How long would it taken them to track her? How far could she get on her own?

Natasha would later learn that it had all been a test. The fear served as a deterrent. The restraints at night. The regimented lifestyle. It was all part of a design to test their resolve. They wanted to see which of the girls were followers and which ones were leaders. By daring to breakout, Natasha had shown potential. She could walk the line. Follower by day and leader by night. Of course, they couldn't have her getting ahead of herself. She could toe the line, but she needed to know that it could never be crossed.

"Come Natalia," they beckoned her forward in Russian, pulling her away from the other girls during their lessons. "We have a special task just for you."

They brought her inside a darkened room and placed a knife in her hands. It wasn't the first time she had ever handled one. On the contrary, she had grown to be quite good with one. It wasn't her favorite training tool, but she was more than proficient.

When the lights went up, she saw that she wasn't alone. There was another girl there as well. Natasha didn't know her very well, but she knew her name was Klavdiya and she was older than Natasha by a few years.

"Natalia. Klavdiya. Two of our brightest stars. Two with so much potential," a disembodied, mechanical like voice spoke to them in Russian. "You both have a thirst for freedom it would seem," it taunted. "We are not cruel people, little ones. We are strict because we care. And because we care, we will give you a taste of the freedom you so long for."

Natasha perked up at the news, but Klavdiya had a very different reaction. She looked stricken and tense. She clutched her hands together nervously and it was only at that point that Natasha noticed that the other girl wasn't armed.

"Everything has a price. Freedom is not truly free. Happiness must be earned. This, little ones, is your opportunity to prove that you are worthy of such kindness. All you have to do is…survive."

The instruction was so simple. Survive. All she had to do to be free was survive. Like escaping the facility, it seemed easy enough. Too easy. Natasha was younger and smaller and she had less training, but she had one thing in her favor. Her desire to get out was strong.

So with the promise of freedom in her mind, Natasha did as she was told. She fought until she was tired and breathless and her hands were stained red with blood. She survived, but the freedom she wanted came at a price. Klavdiya's life. It wouldn't be the last life she took, but it was the first.

The image of Klavdiya stuck with her for years. The way she seemed to give up mid-battle and allow Natasha to win. The tiny smile that formed on her lips just before she drew in her final breath. Klavdiya got her freedom and Natasha got to leave the Red Room, but true freedom would elude her for many years to come.


	2. Betrayal

"You have talent," Ivan Petrovitch told Natasha one day years into her training. He was her handler and one of the few people that she genuinely trusted. "You have skills that need to be cultivated. The American will help you. He will mold you and hone your skills. You _will_ be the best."

Natasha had already bested all of the girls within the Red Room and she had brought pride to her guardians as well as her homeland as a whole. The KGB even took interest in her and sent her on special missions. She was good, but like Ivan said, she could be great.

It was decided that she would be taken under the tutelage of the KGB's secret weapon. He was a master assassin known simply as the American, but those in the know would sometimes refer to him as the Winter Soldier. Natasha supposed he was meant to be intimidating with his stoic disposition and his metal arm, but there were few things that scared her anymore. The silence made her curious though. At first, she was torn between thinking he was mute or unable to communicate in Russian, though English had been a part of her training. In the end, she learned that he was just a man of few words.

Their early training sessions were closely monitored. Ivan or one of the others would instruct him on what areas required his attention. Usually they stuck to hand to hand combat, but weapons were used on occasion. Exhibitions of talent came with time. High ranking members of the KGB flocked to watch and appraise her worth.

"She is as beautiful as she is deadly," Alexi Shostakov declared. He was their prime operative and his words practically set mouths watering from the possibilities. Separately they were remarkable, but as a couple Alexi and Natasha would be epic. Together they would bring honor to the motherland and destroy her enemies.

"It will be a good match," Ivan insisted once Alexi had officially staked his claim on her. "You do not need to love him, but you should learn from him. Use your position to your advantage."

And so she did.

Natasha never grew to love Alexi and she suspected that he viewed her as little more than a prize. She had been trained in the art of seduction, but he was her first real target. She wasn't worried though. She could play the dutiful wife to perfection.

Her first kiss was given with coquettish shyness. Her body was offered timidly. She allowed him to believe he was in control, while she masked her disgust behind a veil of admiration. Alexi was a man to be adored and, to the world, Natasha was his greatest fan. In secret, however, she felt a connection with another.

The American had taught her in ways no one could imagine. They were equals. Kindred spirits. Tools of the Soviet war machine to be used when deemed necessary. Every longing glance. Every heartfelt embrace. Every word of devotion uttered to Alexi and the men she would later seduce were echoes of stolen moments shared with the American.

When she lay in his arms, the old thoughts of freedom resurfaced. Together they could run far to America or some distant corner of the world. Together they could be free. It was a beautiful dream, but with all dreams a time came when she had to wake up.

Three. That was the number of times Alexi struck her. The first was for the betrayal itself and because she would deign to give herself over to the American when she belonged to him. The second one was for insolence when she failed to answer for her actions. The final slap was a warning and the promise of real pain if she ever betrayed him again.

Natasha took the abuse with dignity. They had robbed her of her faculties and all manner of choice. They stole the one person that understood her. She wouldn't allow the satisfaction of causing a reaction.

"It's time for the Winter Soldier to go back on ice," they taunted as they dragged him away and out of her life forever. They would meet again one day, though neither would recognize the other as a result of their memories being manipulated.

'Was that the best they could do?' Natasha wondered. Pathetic. She pitied them for thinking their punishment would break her. Love? That was for children and she stopped being innocent many years ago. If they wanted to make her suffer, they would need to try harder.

Shortly after, she resumed her routine of being an operative and a trophy wife, though her indiscretion had noticeably taken the shine off. Alexi was many things, but arrogance was chief among his qualities. He had been made a fool of and such disrespect must be paid for.

Natasha woke up in a recovery room sore and disoriented. She hadn't been hit again. No this time she had been drugged. The question of why was soon answered by her husband's voice breaking through the haze.

"When your prized dog goes into heat…do you know what should to be done, Natalia?" he asked closed to her ear. "You fix the bitch," he growled cruelly. "Another man may touch you, but you'll never bear his seed. One day you will be old and ugly and your body will be broken and when you wish for someone to care for you…no one will come. _This_ is my revenge."


	3. Fame

Divorced, disgraced and apparently barren, Natasha threw herself into her work. Starting again from the bottom, she put her training to use and gained headway in the world of espionage. There was no denying her skills and soon she rose through the ranks at the KGB once more. Under the guise of a prestigious ballet career, she travelled the world infiltrating and eliminating the enemies of Russia.

She earned many nicknames over the years. Slavic Shadow. Red Death. The one that stood out amongst them all, however, was the Black Widow. With each passing mission, she began to make a name for herself. It was no longer just the Russians whispering about the infamous Black Widow and she was soon hired out to their allies as well.

An assassination here. A security breach there. She didn't care much about for whom or what purpose she offered her skills. It was a job and she left it all behind once it was done. She couldn't think deeply about it. The amount of death and destruction she left in her wake would be paralyzing if she allowed herself to become sentimental. They had taught her to be merciless and unfeeling, so that was what she would be.

A new mission came in a peculiar manner. Natasha found herself on American soil with an assignment to take out one of the country's most famous citizens, Tony Stark. It was a name she had heard several times before. He was a big time weapons manufacturer and he had clearly made enough enemies to be deemed a threat. Natasha was never called in for small jobs.

She rarely did face to face meetings with her clients, but she also wasn't in the habit of taking jobs from Americans. Perhaps it was her upbringing, but she tended to regard them with a healthy dose of suspicion. Her contact received similar treatment.

He was tall and muscular in an athletic way with short blond hair and inquisitive blue eyes. He showed up for their meeting dressed in a casual manner which made clocking the gun he had tucked away easy. Suits always hid weapons better than clothes made of softer fabrics. So he was either an idiot or he wanted her to know that he was armed. Maybe both. Either way, he didn't look like a killer, but Natasha was sure that people made the mistake of thinking that about her as well.

He called himself Francis, which she would have assumed was a fake name if not for the unmistakable embarrassment and insistence on being called Frank. That was a genuine brand of shame carried by someone that hated their name. She told him her name was Natalie. It wasn't completely accurate, but covers were always easier to remember when there was a grain of truth in them. So Francis the unlikely killer and Natalie the Russian assassin hatched a plan to execute a billionaire playboy.

Normally, Natasha preferred a clean kill, in and out with minimal effort. But the plan called for them to infiltrate Stark Industries first and gather information about Stark's partnership with Soviet scientist Anton Vanko, who had defected to the United States from Russia. It was a risky plan and there were a number of ways it could go wrong, but Natasha was called the best for a reason.

The espionage went off without a hitch and they sat in a rundown office space across the way from the venue Tony Stark would be giving a presentation on the latest Stark technology. A sniper's rifle was poised and positioned to fire at will and Natasha was prepared to take the target out by alternate means, if Frank missed his mark. She kept cool under pressure and showed no signs of distress, which was more than she could say for her reluctant partner. His lack of killer instinct became more and more apparent. She wondered how someone like him got caught up in a world like hers and he posed a similar question to her.

"How does a girl like you end up a contract killer?" he asked.

There was no good answer and she didn't attempt to give one. She was focused on the task at hand, but he kept his eyes on her. Natasha was used to men regarding her with lustful intentions and she was certain she could seduce him without much effort. His gaze was different though. His interest seemed to go deeper.

"Do you ever think about getting out?" he pressed. "Just walking away and starting over?"

Of course she had, but he didn't need to know that. He didn't need to know anything about her and the fact that he was so keen sent up a red flag. He was supposed to be a sniper. He could have easily taken out a pushover like Tony Stark. And even if it was the seduction angle he was after, it would only take a pretty face posing as a secretary to distract the man long enough to get the information he wanted. Which begged the question, why did he even need her?

It was a trap, Natasha realized too late. The Black Widow was the best at what she did, but there was a fine line between famous and infamous.

"Up to speed?" he asked once her attention had shifted to him. He nodded silently and brandished his gun, setting it between his feet. "The name is Clint Barton. I'm part of an agency called S.H.I.E.L.D. and you're on our radar in a bad way, Red. I've been sent to kill you."

Natasha's earlier questions were suddenly answered. Not only did he lack the nerve to kill, a real killer wouldn't waste time with declarations of deadly intentions. But he really was an idiot if he thought this piss poor power play was going to work on her. Her eyes flashed to his gun. She could take him down and then get out before whoever these S.H.I.E.L.D. people were even noticed.

Clint glanced down at the gun as well and did something she didn't expect. He kicked in her direction. It slid and stopped halfway between the two of them. His eyes moved back up to hers. "You can try to kill me if you want," he said, bordering on arrogant. "But I'm a lot faster than I look and I _never_ miss," he warned. "Or…" He gestured for her to sit down. "You can listen to what I have to say and we can both walk out of here alive."


	4. Trust

The transition from KGB to S.H.I.E.L.D. was a tough one. For starters, Natasha was certain that the KGB would come after her. She had been a vital asset to them and if Alexi had proven anything, betrayal was not taken lightly. She didn't know when and she didn't know how, but they would come for her.

The next few months were spent in a state of constant hypervigilance that was compounded by the fact that she wasn't sure who she could trust. It was clear from the moment she stepped into the Triskelion that her journey with S.H.I.E.L.D. was going to be an uphill battle. She was a spy so she knew the score.

In the world of espionage, trust was key. It wasn't something that was easily given. It had to be earned. By defecting to the United States, she had marked herself as someone with shifting allegiances. If she wanted to earn their trust, she'd have to work hard to prove that she wouldn't turn on them like she did with the KGB. The question she had to ask herself was if it was worth it.

Clint had promised Natasha a better life the night he chose not to kill her. A life where she would have more control and the freedom to choose her own path. He guaranteed her a chance to atone for her past. But if S.H.I.E.L.D. admired her for her skills and made good use of them, were they all that different from the KGB? Natasha wasn't so sure. So until she decided just where her allegiances lay, she would play their game to the fullest and be the perfect agent.

Unsurprisingly, S.H.I.E.L.D. partnered her with Clint. He was the one who brought her into the fold so of course he would be the one that would be held accountable for her actions. Natasha's initial assessment on him had been on the money.

Francis was his middle name and he definitely did not like it. Natasha made a point to call him that whenever he annoyed her, which was more often than not. The arrogance was spot on as well, though he backed up his claim about never missing. He was good with a gun, but with a bow and arrow he was a technician.

The idiot thing she was still on the fence about. There were times that his actions bordered on the ridiculous, but she wasn't quite sure if it was one hundred percent genuine or part of an act to get people to underestimate him. She leaned towards the later. Clint grew up in the circus. Conning people was in his blood.

"If we're going to be partners, you're gonna have to learn to trust me sooner or later, Tasha," he said to her in the middle of a mission.

Natasha trusted him to an extent. She had confidence in his resolve to get the job done. She also had faith in him not to get her killed. He had spared her life at the cost of his reputation within S.H.I.E.L.D. so he was unlikely to cut his losses so soon. Still, trust wasn't something Natasha was used to dealing with. There were less than a handful of people in her entire life she had unequivocal trust in. Clinton Francis Barton wasn't one of them.

"I have your back," Clint told her seriously. "One day you'll realize that."

It was like a cruel twist of fate. During the very same mission, things took a turn for the worst. Even the best trained operatives could be thrown off their game. They had to be able to think on their feet, reassess and change course.

"Alright," Clint replied breathlessly while they were tucked together into a tight corridor. "Get the prototype out of here. I'll cover you." He drew an arrow from his quiver and moved first. "Whatever you hear," he began before going his separate way. "Just keep moving."

Natasha didn't question it. She just moved. Prototype hidden about her person, she fought her way towards the rendezvous point. Clint promised a distraction and she believed he could deliver. Halfway to safety is when she heard it. She clutched her ears in pain as the high pitched sound rang out. People dropped around her but she kept moving. It wasn't until later that she realized exactly what had happened.

Clint was in recovery for days before they finally let Natasha him see. The sound she heard was emitted from one of his sonic arrows. It was painful to her from far away, but with Clint being ground zero, the effect had ruptured his eardrum rendering him deaf.

"You're gonna have to speak a little clearer," Clint joked with a rueful smile when he greeted her from his bed. "No, but seriously. Lip reading is tricky enough without you mumbling." His face contorted in concentration. "Are you speaking English or Russian? Enunciate."

Natasha was angry for reasons she didn't immediately understand. How could be so stupid? How could he be so reckless? And now he was making light of the whole situation like he hadn't just sacrificed his hearing to assure their mission's was a success? Why would he do such a thing?

"I told you," Clint said, seemingly reading her mind. "I've got your back."

Natasha nodded and silently took a seat when he patted the spot on the edge of his bed. He had her back. She understood that now. She couldn't say if her future with S.H.I.E.L.D. was certain or not, but there was one thing for sure. Clint had her trust and she owed him a debt.


	5. Secrecy

Everyone has secrets. Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something. Natasha had more than her fair share. Perhaps that was what made her so well equipped to be a spy.

Part of her deal with S.H.I.E.L.D. was that her past with the KGB be buried. S.H.I.E.L.D. was an intelligence agency so it wasn't a difficult request. It didn't hurt that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Director Nick Fury was a man that value compartmentalization. The mission would come first and everything else would fall into place one way or another.

Other than Clint, Fury was one of the few people she formed a strong bond with. He didn't need to know everything about her and she didn't need to know everything about him. There was a mutual understanding built upon a shared suspicion of most people. Out of respect, they were willing to be open to the point of necessity. No more. No less. He provided the resources she needed to get the job done and she performed her duties without question.

The free rein allowed Natasha to work in a manner that suited her well. It was a good arrangement, but that did not mean there weren't hiccups along the way. The nuclear engineer she was set to escort out of Iran taken down in Odessa by an assassin's bullet fired right through her abdomen. The Tony Stark situation that essentially called for her to act as a babysitter to the impulsively unruly billionaire and self-declared Iron Man, an ordeal which had her mentally revisiting earlier plans to execute him. And also, there were the events leading up to the Battle of New York which included Clint being possessed by the Asgardian known as Loki.

The real test, however, came when Fury sent Natasha and a team of agents led by, Captain America himself, Steve Rogers to rescue the Lemurian Star, a S.H.I.E.L.D. vessel taken hostage by pirates. Unbeknownst to anyone, Fury had hired Algerian mercenary Georges Batroc to take the ship with the sole purpose of getting Natasha inside to secure data from the servers onboard. She never questioned his motives, but the resulting aftermath shook the very foundation upon which she built her new life.

Like a virus, the terrorist organization HYDRA had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. and corrupted them from the inside. People Natasha knew and worked alongside of for years had been secretly working to throw the entire world into chaos. Alexander Pierce, the Secretary to the World Security Council and former ally of Nick Fury, had been playing them for years. When Fury got too close to the truth, Pierce sent the assassin known as the Winter Soldier after Nick.

Nick's apparent death affected Natasha more deeply than she let on. Nick was the closed thing to a father figured she had since Ivan.

"I needed to know who I could trust," Nick told her after Maria Hill revealed the truth of his survival to a small group that included Steve and new ally Sam Wilson.

Natasha didn't allow herself to be too wounded by the deception. In his position, she might have done the same thing. Steve was less sympathetic about the treachery. A fact that was compounded by the revelation that Steve's long assumed dead best friend, Bucky Barnes, was the brainwashed Winter Soldier and thereby personally responsible for carrying out countless assassinations over the past fifty years, including Tony Stark's parents and the engineer Natasha failed to protect during the Ukraine ambush.

Pierce had plans to launch Project Insight's Helicarriers with the goal of eliminating potential threats to HYDRA. So Fury laid out a game plan to take back the carriers and salvage what was left of S.H.I.E.L.D., but Steve rejected that scenario.

"We're not salvaging anything. We're not just taking down the carriers. We're taking down S.H.I.E.L.D.," Steve declared as they prepared to take the Triskelion. "S.H.I.E.L.D. HYDRA. It all goes."

Natasha knew he was right and her old doubts about joining S.H.I.E.L.D. began to resurface. She had convinced herself that she had gone straight when she traded the KGB for S.H.I.E.L.D only to find out that once again she was being manipulated. S.H.I.E.L.D. needed to be taken down and she would be the one to do it.

Disguised as Councilwoman Hawley of the World Security Council, Natasha got herself and Fury close enough to Pierce to disable security protocols and dump of all of S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA's secure files onto the Internet.

"If you do this, none of your past is gonna remain hidden," Pierce warned her. "Are you sure you're ready for the world to see you as you _really_ are?"

So much of Natasha's life she had buried deep over the years. The Red Room. Klavdiya. Alexi. São Paulo. The hospital fire. Dreykov's daughter. Endless amounts of red in her ledger. She lied and killed in the service of liars and killers. Even after joining S.H.I.E.L.D. she continued to commit the same sins. Actions justified by a self-imposed code of honor and practiced compartmentalization.

"They are a part of you and they will _never_ go away," Loki's past taunts echoed in her mind.

With one keystroke, all of her secrets would be revealed. Secrets that she had long fought to keep hidden. Secrets that chained her to an old life. Secrets that she protected at the cost of any real chance of redemption. Was she ready to pay the price to finally free herself from her past?

'Yes,' she decided silently as she set the wheels in motion to ensure S.H.I.E.L.D.'s downfall and, by association, her own.


	6. Intimacy

With S.H.I.E.L.D. effectively destroyed, her secrets uncovered and all of her covers blown, Natasha sought refuge in a place where she knew she could be herself. She woke to the sound of a rooster crowing and the warmth of sunlight streaming into the room through the large window next to the bed. She sat up slowly and stretched her limbs. In the past six weeks on the farm, she received the best sleep she had since first going on the run with Steve. She finally felt a sense of relief and the company didn't hurt either.

She climbed out of bed wearing purple flannel pajama pants and a University of Iowa t-shirt, both of which she was practically swimming in, and made her way to the kitchen. Her arrival was greeted by the smell of bacon and freshly brewed coffee and the sound of Clint singing off-key to I'm Not in Love by 10cc as he scooped heaps of scrambled eggs onto two plates already laden with bacon and toast.

In the two years that followed the Battle of New York, Clint had taken a reduced workload. He was still active within S.H.I.E.L.D., but it was mostly small missions. Quick in and out type stuff. No muss no fuss. He had been off the grid on his farm in Iowa when S.H.I.E.L.D. fell and it wasn't until Natasha contacted him on his special line that he even knew what had happened. She boarded a bus in Washington D.C. and headed west. After a full day of travelling, Natasha got off in Waterloo to find Clint leaning against his red 1970 Dodge Challenger and waiting for her.

"You know, if you need a new identity…you could always try Mrs. Barton on for size," Clint suggested as they made the drive to his hometown of Waverly.

It hadn't been the first time he proposed. He made a habit of periodically asking her to marry him over the years. This time, like every other time before, she didn't dignify the question with a response.

Her relationship with Clint was without a doubt the most important to Natasha. They both had risked life and limb for each other on numerous occasions and as a result they formed a deeply profound bond. She trusted him above all others. He was her partner, her best friend and, whenever the mood struck, he was also her lover.

The first time they were intimate occurred not long after he lost his hearing. He was given clearance to leave the hospital and put on medical leave while he adjusted to the S.H.I.E.L.D. issued hearing aids. He wore them for work, but he usually plucked them out whenever he was at home. Consequently, the two of them quickly developed a habit of using sign language in their free time and even during missions.

They were in his ratty little apartment in Bed-Stuy when Natasha made her move. She was still struggling to understand why he had sacrificed his hearing and she felt a certain sense of obligation towards him. Verbal declarations of gratitude were never her strong suit and people always said actions spoke louder than words. She had been bugging him about needing to pay him back, much to his annoyance. So when he finally broke down and told her to just pick some form of compensation and he'd agree go along with it, she fingerspelled the letters 'S-E-X.'

Clint was attracted to her. She had realized that early on and she was no stranger to using her looks to achieve an end. He was definitely more appealing than men she had been with for lesser reasons and a part of her was thrilled by the prospect of seeing if he would live up to the endless flirting and bravado. What she wasn't counting on, however, was that Clint would turn her down flat.

"You want to use sex to repay a debt? You know there's a word for that right?" Clint quipped after she signed her suggestion to him. "No judgement. It's respectable work and there are worse things to do for a living." He shrugged. "I guess I just imagined if you and I ever hit the sheets it would be for a different reason."

A different reason? What reason more did he need other than the fact that she had offered it? Seduction wasn't a skill she particularly enjoyed employing, but it was one that never failed. So why the hell wasn't he jumping at the chance to sleep with her when he just confirmed that he thought about it?

Natasha didn't wait around for an answer. She made an excuse to leave and spent the next few weeks questioning his motivation. It was around that time that she had her run in with the Winter Soldier in Odessa. Clint wasted no time setting up camp at her apartment in the Little Ukraine neighborhood of Manhattan and personally supervising her convalescence. 'Another debt to repay,' she thought.

Once she was cleared to return to the field, Clint pulled her aside. "Look. We're square, alright? Every day that I make it to the end of alive is because you have my back. So I don't need you to pay me back for looking out for you, Tasha. Okay? I do it because I love you," he informed her.

Love. That was the reason he had been holding out for. He didn't want to have sex because he loved her too much to use her. Clint Barton, the man who managed to have such a big heart despite having a past as fucked up as her own, was starting to fall in love with her and that scared the shit out Natasha.

When Clint noticed her reaction to the word 'love' he quickly added, "You're my best friend. What else do you expect me to do?"

His feelings for her frightened Natasha and her instincts told her to run, but deep down she knew that she couldn't leave him. Inadvertently, he had become her home. She felt safe and comfortable with him in a way that she never experienced before. She refused to call it love because love was a liability. Love was a trap. It was a prison. It was an anchor that latched on and dragged you down to a deep abyss that was almost impossible escape from. She couldn't return his love, but she could give him a compromise.

Natasha answered his question with a kiss followed by a question of her own. 'Friends with benefits?' she signed in response. Clint kissed her back with a nod and they spent the rest of the evening exploring a new side to their relationship.

After that, they turned to each other whenever they were bored or horny or just in need of physical contact. Fast. Slow. Hard. Gentle. Kinky. Tender. Whatever the reason or where the location, they would always find a way to make it work when the other beckoned. Before long, sex with anyone else just didn't feel right to Natasha anymore.

Nobody else instinctively knew what she needed or how she wanted it every time. Nobody else could tell whether she needed to be cuddled immediately afterwards or if she wanted to be left alone. Nobody else could tell when she craved being held instead of sex. No one else looked at her the way he did. No one else made her pulse race or caused her stomach to flutter. No one else confused and frustrated and delighted Natasha all at the same time and the feeling only grew after arriving at the farm.

Even that morning, while nibbling on dry toast and pushing half eaten eggs around her plate, Natasha felt her insides twist and turn whenever he looked at her. She secretly wished she had her own hearing aid that she could yank out to save herself from listening to him sing along to song lyrics that hit a little too close to home. Her stomach lurched at the thought of that pesky four letter word that came closer to spilling from her lips or being signed by hands with each passing day. It was all too much.

Natasha shot out of her seat and made a fast dash for the bathroom off the kitchen, emptying the entire contents of her stomach in the toilet and then heaving next to it long after nothing else came up. She chalked it up to nervous tension, but Clint insisted upon taking her to the emergency room.

"Definitely not a bug," the doctor on call informed them, ruling out Clint's suspicions. "It's just an old fashioned case of morning sickness."

The first thing that came to Natasha's mind was Alexi. For years, she had irregular cycles, but she had never bothered to verify his claims of sterilization or explore exactly what he had done to her. Now she wondered if his plan had simply failed or if the whole thing was just another example of his manipulation, though the latter option seemed unlikely.

Motherhood was never in the cards for her. She never was meant to have a normal life anyway so it made no sense for him to lie about it to hurt her. None of it was ever meant to happen and yet, Natasha was living with a man that was utterly devoted to her. She felt love and, for the first time in her life, she was tempted to give it back in return to both Clint and their unborn child.


	7. Comfort

Natasha actively questioned the sanity of people that said pregnancy was wonderful. Besides the fact that a human parasite was systematically wreaking havoc on her insides, she had to deal with serious lifestyle changes. She couldn't eat everything she wanted. She couldn't do everything she wanted. And perhaps worst of all, Clint had developed an annoying habit of conversing with her abdomen.

It took Natasha some time to adjust to the idea of impending motherhood, but Clint seemed to take to it like a duck to water. She knew all about his past. His father was an alcoholic and abusive towards him, his mother and his brother, Barney. After his parents died in a car accident, he and Barney ran away from the orphanage they had been sent to and joined the circus. His time with the circus was probably the closest thing Clint had to a real family or at least he had thought so at the time. Jacques, his mentor and father figure, turned out not to be the man Clint thought he was. Between him and his biological father, Clint's lack of respect for authority figures made a lot of sense to Natasha. As did his desire to have a family of his own.

Although his memories of home weren't fond, at least Clint could say he had some. The Red Room had messed with Natasha's head so much that she still was unsure if the parents she saw in flashes were real or imaginary. Some days she pretended that they were and other times she hoped that they hadn't been. No parent would willingly subject their child to the life that she led and she didn't want to think about the fate they might have faced if they fought to keep her out of the Red Room's grasp. The killer instinct they drilled into the girls had to come from somewhere after all.

Things would be different for their child. She and Clint would give their baby a life like the one neither one of them got to live. One filled with happiness and love.

"Our kid is gonna be spoiled rotten. You know that, right?" Clint teased as they cuddled in bed with both their arms wrapped protectively around her growing belly. "Expensive gifts from Uncle Tony. Art lessons from Cap. Homework help from Bruce. And Thor…well Thor can teach her how to braid her hair."

Clint was convinced they were having a girl and even went as far as to wager naming rights on it. Natasha knew better than to take a bet from a carnie, but she still enjoyed their conversations on the subject. Clint favored names like Robin or Diana after famous archers while Natasha leaned towards ballet inspired choices such as Giselle or Odette.

In the end, Hope Ekaterina Romanova-Barton came into the world on a warm spring evening weighing in at seven pounds nine ounces and measuring a perfect twenty inches. The inconvenience of pregnancy and pain of labor were worth it once Natasha watched Clint tearfully cradle their daughter in his arms.

"That's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard in my life," Clint said about their daughter's voice.

The first few weeks he never removed his hearing aids out of desperation to memorize each individual sound she made. He claimed every coo, giggle and cry was like music to his ears. Natasha reckoned that the novelty eventually wore off because by the time Hope was a month old, Clint had resuming plucking them out whenever he slept. Of course that didn't stop Natasha from thwacking him awake for late night feedings or diaper changes. She had taken care of all the heavy lifting. The least he could do was help out with the daily necessities.

It came easily though. Much easier than Natasha would have ever imagined. Her whole life had been about survival and self-preservation. Occasionally, she would let other people get close, but there was always a wall between them. One last unbreachable barrier that she used as her last line of defense. When she looked down at Hope, however, Natasha felt the wall crumble to pieces. Now and forever, that little girl would come first.

"I know," Clint whispered to Natasha when he caught her watching Hope sleep one night. "I've got it bad too."

The next few months on the farm were spent falling hopelessly in love with their daughter, and perhaps a bit more with each other. Clint made jokes about having more, but Natasha couldn't dream of sharing her heart with another. Three was the perfect number, just her, Clint and Hope.

A year after Hope's birth, the call of New York and the Avengers came too loud for them to ignore any longer. So their little family made a new home in the Tower with the rest of the team. Much like Natasha and Clint had been before, none of the others really fancied themselves baby people, but Hope had a way of melting even the coldest of hearts and it didn't take long for her to have all of the other Avengers wrapped around her finger.

"The charm she gets from her mother," Clint insisted.

Natasha wasn't sure if that was true or not, but their daughter was a perfect mix of the two of them. With strawberry blonde tresses and full lips, Hope greatly resembled her mother. The nose was definitely Clint's though. As were those inquisitive blue eyes that never seemed to miss a beat.

Personality wise, she had stubborn streak that tended to rear its head around nap time. She was also clever and quickly picked up on patterns in both daily routines and the games people engaged her in. Natasha began speaking to her in Russian soon after she was born and now Hope recognized certain phrase without much prompting. Clint started in with sign language once he felt her dexterity was up for the challenge. Natasha insisted they wait a few years for her first archery lesson much to Clint's chagrin.

Without realizing it, they made plans. Some were small, like learning goals for the next few months or talk of preschools. Others were long-term. Would she choose to follow in their path or forge one of her own making? How soon was too soon to start a college fund? Natasha had become so wrapped up in all her hopes and dreams of a better life for Hope that she allowed herself to forget that nothing was promised. Happiness wasn't a given. Love was a liability and Natasha's enemies had no problem using hers against her.

It happened so fast that none of them was even sure how it came to pass. Somehow an intruder had breached the Tower's security and stolen Hope away in the middle of night. Who had done it? How did they get away with it? What was their end game? There were so many questions, but too few answers.

One thing was for certain though. Natasha had let down her guard once before and she wasn't going to make that same mistake twice.


	8. Freedom

The loss of their daughter drove a wedge between Natasha and Clint. They still worked well together, but their social interaction became strained. Neither of them blamed each other, if anything, they both blamed themselves. Their shared grief should have drawn them together, but the other's presence only seemed to serve as a constant reminder.

Clint was the first to move out. He headed back to the farm only staying in New York when it was absolutely necessary. He started drinking heavily and having more than a few flings. Natasha remained at the Tower longer until all the other occupants naturally drifted to their own corners of the world.

Once she moved out, Natasha settled into a place in Brooklyn not far from Steve's brownstone. As S.H.I.E.L.D. slowly sought to rebuild itself, she formed a team of sorts with Steve, Sam, former Agent 13 Sharon Carter, and a rehabilitated Bucky. Work provided a welcomed diversion, but she relied on distractions of a different sort in her downtime.

"So we knew each other?" Bucky questioned during a quiet moment alone.

The information she dumped on the internet about S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA unearthed a lot of secrets including the story of Bucky's transformation into the Winter Soldier. The details about their relationship had never been explicitly stated, but it didn't take long for the two of them to fill in the missing pieces. It also didn't take long for them to fall into old habits.

Other than Clint, Bucky was the first lover Natasha had in years. She couldn't recall her feelings for him, but the muscle memory kicked in once things turned intimate. They were good together both in and outside of the bedroom, but she refused to go down that road again. Thankfully, Bucky didn't push the matter. He had his own sins to atone for and demons to battle. But her reluctance to engage didn't stop Steve from sharing his opinion. Natasha supposed he was the only one not afraid of incurring her wrath. Or maybe he just figured her could take whatever she could dish out. Either way, he said what a lot of people were probably thinking.

"You can't keep punishing yourself, Natasha," Steve told her in his gentle yet authoritative way. "Believe me. I know how it feels to question yourself and wonder how you could have changed the way things played out. But what happened to Hope…it wasn't your fault. One of these days you and Clint will both realize that," he insisted. "We _will_ find her."

Natasha tried not to be annoyed by his words. She knew he meant well, but kind words in a bad situation were harder to swallow when they came from someone with their shit together. Steve got Bucky back, he still had Sam by his side and he finally broke down and made a move with Sharon. He had everything he wanted and his happiness made Natasha bitter. The feeling put a strain on their relationship and after a while they began to move in different directions.

Natasha came into the world alone and when push came to shove, she had no problem living that way again. So she went back to her roots and resumed a life of being a hired hand, though this time she was more selective about the jobs she took. She would help people who couldn't help themselves. Life wasn't fair, but the least she could do was tip the balance in the favor of those that deserved justice.

"You sound like a lawyer," Matt Murdoch teased. He would know because he was a lawyer and a vigilante in his own right. They had crossed paths years ago in Hell's Kitchen and later again in San Francisco. He was another nice guy that saw the good in her. Another former lover. Another what if. She was beginning to make a bad habit of racking up those.

Her past had a nasty way of rearing its ugly head without warning, so she really shouldn't have been surprised when Clint turned up on her doorstep with some girl she had never met before.

In the years following their breakup, both of them had moved on and had other relationships. Natasha had short-lived reprises with Matt and Bucky. Clint briefly flirted with Wanda Maximoff to no avail and later had a tumultuous relationship with former HYDRA operative turned S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Jessica Drew, but perhaps the closest thing to stability came when he met ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Bobbi Morse. The two of them eloped after only knowing each other for nine days and Clint played an integral part in Bobbi's foundation of the World Counterterrorism Agency. Much like Natasha and Bucky, they looked good on paper, but for whatever reason they just couldn't seem to make it work and Bobbi ended up filing for divorce.

Natasha wasn't the jealous type. She wanted Clint to be happy even if it meant him having a life with someone else. Though the more time she spent with Clint and his so called protégé Kate Bishop, the more she was convinced that there definitely was nothing going on between the two of them.

For starters, she was too young for him. Clint was a lot of things, an insatiable flirt for one, but he wasn't a cradle robber. Secondly, they bickered like brother and sister.

Kate stared at Natasha for a long while before shaking her head. "I don't get it," she declared suddenly. "You've got hot brunette Jessica, blond bombshell Bobbi and rocking redhead Natasha…three _totally_ capable women who all, for whatever reason, hooked up with the walking disaster that is Clint Barton." She scoffed loudly and looked at Clint. "Did Dr. Strange owe you a favor or something? Because I smell some Sorcerer Supreme level shenanigans."

Ignoring Kate's sidebar, Clint pulled Natasha aside and let her in on the reason for his sudden appearance. Apparently, the WCA had caught wind of a string of espionage agents around the world are being assassinated and followed the trail to a shadowy figure known as Ronin operating outside of Moscow.

"Bobbi came across a list of targets, most of which are dead, and I'm not talking pushovers here, Nattie. I'm mean big boys. Members of the KGB, Japanese Secret Service, MI:6, Mossad, Black Air, S.H.I.E.L.D., and even HYDRA." He paused. "Bobbi's on the list…and so are you."

Natasha couldn't say she was surprised. She had made a lot of enemies over the years and now that her past was out in the open, they wouldn't have any trouble finding her. She always knew her comeuppance was coming. It was never a matter of if but when.

"That's not all," Clint added hesitantly. "One of the last targets eliminated was Ivan Petrovitch. Surveillance managed to catch a glimpse of his assailant. Female. Russian. Young. She couldn't be more than twelve and she took him down with military precision. From the sound of it, she's just one of many."

Little girls trained to kill based out of Russia. It didn't take a genius to know what that meant. Someone had revived the Red Room and as its most famous graduate, it was only natural that she'd be on their hit list. But beyond that, a more disturbing thought had occurred to her.

Hope had been taken nearly seven years ago. She was around the age Natasha was when she first began her training. What crueler fate could befall her daughter than living a life like hers? This was clearly the work of someone that had wanted to hurt her. Someone that wanted to punish her in a deeply personal way. Only one person would go to such great lengths.

"I know who has our daughter," Natasha told him seriously. "And he won't stop until I give him what he wants."

They quickly gathered a small team together, consisting of Steve, Bucky, Sharon, Bobbi and Sam, and then headed for Russia. Natasha was content to take Alexi on by herself, but Clint and the others weren't having it. So she played along long enough to give them the slip and make her way to the place she had escaped so long ago.

Even after all the years that had passed, breaking back into the Red Room was just as easy as it had been on those nights when she left her bed. Only this time, Natasha wasn't deluded enough to believe that her presence was undetected. All roads had been leading to this moment. The leaked list of targets was just bread crumbs. He knew that Clint would bring the information to her. Just like he knew that Natasha would piece the puzzle together and come alone.

As she entered the familiar darkened room, Natasha instinctively clutched her hands into fist and forced down thoughts of Klavdiya. Had she known she was walking to her death? Did she still have hope or had she simply resigned herself to her fate?

The lights went up and Natasha saw that she wasn't alone. Even though it had been years since she last saw her, Natasha immediately recognized her little girl.

"Natalia. Alexis. My two special girls. Two with so much potential," a voice that unmistakably belong to Alexi spoke to them in Russian. "You both have a thirst for freedom it would seem," he taunted. "I'm not cruel, little ones. I'm strict because I care. And because I care, I will give you a taste of the freedom you so long for."

If Natasha had ever doubted for a moment that Alexi was a sick son of a bitch, there was no question of that fact now. It wasn't bad enough that he had abused her and made her life hell, but he actually had the gall to steal her child and give her his name.

He had always viewed Natasha as a mere possession. So it made sense that Hope was an extension of that in his mind. Now he was content to pit them against each other like so many innocent girls that came before them. The irony wasn't lost on Natasha. In fact, she had come to expect it. That was how he operated. Those were the kind of games he played. And yet, she could tell that this was no game for her opponent.

Hope was small. Far tinier than Natasha had been that first time, but by no means frail. Her strawberry blond hair was parted down the middle and arranged into two braids. Her blue eyes were cold and scared. She didn't want this but she knew that the punishment for failure would be worse. Her brow creased in concentration and her lips thinned into a sharp line. Little fingers curled tightly around the hilt of her knife.

"I wish I could tell you that you'll always be safe, but this isn't the time for lies," Natasha spoke to her gently in Russian. "But what you will be, my Ekaterina, is loved. No matter what happens next…" She crossed her arms over her chest and gave the sign for 'love,' one of the first words Clint had taught them both. "I will always love you," she promised in English.

Hope inched forward at a snail's pace and once she was in arm's reach, Natasha pulled her into a fierce hug. The little girl went rigid in her arms, no doubt unfamiliar with the sensation. Had it been so long that she couldn't even remember that first year of happiness? Had they messed with her memories or just broken her spirit the way they did with all the girls?

Natasha looked down at the hand holding the knife and covered it with her own. Her thumb glided over the red line along her wrist that had no doubt been earned from fighting against her restraints.

Alexi would never stop. He'd keep coming for her until he ruined both her and Hope. And even if she took him down, there would always be someone else willing to hurt her child just to get to her. There was only one way to stop him. Only one way to stop them all. One way to set them both free and it required a sacrifice.

"Don't be afraid," Natasha told her in a soothing tone, closing her eyes. "All you have to do is…survive." And with that, she squeezed her daughter's hand tightly and guided the knife into her side and giving it a twist.

When Natasha opened her eyes again, she was surrounded by a blindly light. "Is this heaven?" she asked softly.

"Maybe," Clint retorted with a warm smile. "You look a bit like an angel."

Natasha looked around and realized that she wasn't dead despite her best efforts. In fact, she felt well rested, but she always did on the farm. "How am I still alive?"

"By the grace of God," Clint answered. "You lost a lot of blood, but not nearly as much as that son of a bitch Shostakov once we got through with him," he added darkly and his jaw went tense in anger.

Natasha covered his hand with hers and he relaxed at contact. "Hope?"

All hints of darkness fade completely at the mention of their daughter. "She was shaken at first, but she bounced back fast." He nodded towards the window.

When Natasha looked at him questioningly, he slipped gentle arm around her and lifted her carefully from the bed, walking them over to the window. Outside in the backyard, Hope was with Kate practicing with a bow and arrow while a yellow Labrador Retriever bound around them happily in circles.

"Hey! If you're gonna use the name Hawkeye, I expect you to be able to teach my daughter better form than that," Clint shouted out the window to them. Kate responded by giving him the finger. "Just because you use your hands it doesn't make it sign language, Katie-Kate."

Natasha laughed softly and was surprised to find that the pain in her side was minimal. Apparently, she had been asleep a lot longer than she realized. Clint put her back to bed and she pulled him close, not wanting him to leave her side after going so long without his touch. He was more than happy to oblige. He started talking about welcome home parties and get well soon gifts from their friends, none of which she paid any attention to because she was too busy soaking in the moment.

Nothing in life was free. Every action had its reaction. Every decision had a consequence. A price. Happiness wasn't a given. It's a wage that had to be earned. For the first time in her life, Natasha truly felt free and there was no doubt in her mind that she had earned it.


End file.
